Good Things Come in British Packages
by Anonymous Imani
Summary: Bettie has a curious experience that turns out to be quite beneficial. Warning: the usual. You know.


"Hello, beautiful," he whispers into my hair, as if that's going to calm me any. "Name's Jaime. And you are?"

"Sickened," I spit out, and I hope my breath stinks as bad as his does. I think, in that moment, that it's because he's English. A hint of manners, the accent, the breath. It would make sense.

"Very funny," he returns, but his grip tightens on my arms and he pins my legs closer to the wall. I gasp at the pinching sensation but refuse to cry out. Jaime puts his face right before mine. "I am going to shag you now," he says, and the way of speaking really throws me off.

I've never heard that euphemism for rape before, not in real life, and I'm about to mention so to Jaime, vehemently I might add, when I'm brought back to reality by his knee between my bare legs. They shake with fear, like my voice does when I make a last ditch effort. I'm hyperaware of the heat rolling off of his body, my panties hanging down around my ankles, and even though I know what's going to happen next, I try to stop it. "Please don't- _Ahh_!"

Ignoring my attempt at begging, Jaime sinks into me, further in until he pushes past the barrier that _was _my virginity and he's completely 'inside of me' as he put it. I sob and try to fight him, anything to stop this intrusion, this invasion, but it's weak. I abandon my effort in order to keep from crying. Fighting it just makes it hurt worse.

Jaime shifts a little bit, and then curses softly. "You're so tight. I didn't think you were a virgin, that's why I chose you. Frankie's the one who likes virgins. Likes to see 'em bleed. I fancy myself more of a gentleman. You're so tight," he repeats, and then he breathily whispers, "Please tell me your name."

I figure, now that it's started, that cooperation would finish it faster. I want to move, the ease the uncomfortable presence between my legs, but it's a man, so that would simply make things worse. "My name's Bettie."

Jaime breathes a huff of air into my hair again, and then suddenly, heaves up my legs around his waist and presses his weight against me, clutching my bottom to keep me in place. I grit my teeth against the odd mixture of pain and pleasure, and try to accomodate the new, deeper angle. I can hardly breathe.

"Bettie," Jaime continues as if nothing has happened, though he does sound quite breathless now. "Short for Elizabeth, isn't it? A good English name."

I'm silent. Now I've been in plenty of odd and bizarre encounters with strangers, but this one surpasses them all. Polite conversation with the man who just so happens to be raping me. It definitely takes the cake.

"Yes," I comment, because I have no idea what else to say or what Jaime plans on doing. "Bettie, with an 'i-e.'"

He nods against the side of my head, probably tangling my hair, and I realize how much more intimate this position brings us. I can feel his hot pelvis right against mine, his breathing in my ear, occaisonally his scruff will scratch my cheek, and his hands grip the undersides of my thighs, no longer pinning my arms to the wall. I realize that I can push him away. I begin to plan my escape when Jaime interrupts. "Are you good now?" he asks.

I have to pause a moment to think of what he's asking me, utterly confused.

"You know- stretched?"

It dawns on me that he means my- yeah- and that this talking was a way to distract me, to give me time to adjust. It was a particularly gentlemanly move of him. I find my words a bit late after this revelation, and even then they aren't very articulate. "Um... Uh-huh. You can..."

He breathes this sigh that can't be mistaken for anything except relief, and then begins to pull out. I don't realize, until he's almost completely gone, how much he entirely filled me. Before I might've called it the oddest realization, but it's almost the norm now. He rams back inside with a grunt, and I stiffen at the blend of pain and pleasure that shoots up my spine.

One of my fantasies, when I was very horny and lonely, had been to be taken against my bedroom wall by the cute boy from my third- or was it fifth?- period. Now that it's happening, except with some intruder with schizophrenia and a drinking problem, I have no idea what to think. I mean, I know somewhere in the back of my mind that it doesn't particularly hurt- Jaime is surprisingly good at meting out some form of gentleness with the aggression that causes him to pound into me- but it was the psychological aspect of it, really. There's what you expect a situation like this to feel like, and then there is the actual situation, and the truth of it is, it's completely degrading and disconcerting. However, girls willingly lose their virignities in a lot less undesirable ways than this: with unexperienced guys or horrid places that weren't designed for sex at all. And as far as rapists go, Jaime is good to me. Then, I figure somewhere in my mind that I'm developing some strain of Stockholm's syndrome. That I am sympathetic to Jaime because he'd shown me some shred of kindness. I refuse to be that girl.

I reach out to claw out his eyes, but in that moment, he thrusts into me particularly hard, and something about the angle or the power- _whatever_, I don't know- is purely _delicious_. "Sweet baby Jesus," I say aloud in a moment of surprise. The sudden shift into a situation of pleasure frightens me, throws me off, and I don't know what I should do. Like, remain stiff or... ?

And Jaime, the criminal, has the audacity to chuckle at me. "Hang on, love."

I open my mouth to tell him that I am not and will never be his love, but he beats me to it by moving into me with another one of those deep deliberate strokes so that pleasure ghosts my words from my lips. This ravenous hunger, maybe its years of teenaged lust, or possibly the man of this moment, tells me I _want this_. I want _him_. I clutch at his clothes, yearning to feel the skin underneath, to know if his body is as lean as I suspect it to be underneath this jacket, or if his skin is hot to the touch. I moan low.

"Please," I say, and this time, I'm asking for exactly what Jaime's doing.

He pulls his head back to look me in the face as my hands come to clutch his shoulders. What he sees there makes his eyes widen and his mouth hang a bit. "Gor blimey," he whispers, incredulous, voice gravelly. In the next second, he's pulled out of me, set me on the floor, and began removing my t-shirt and underwear with amazing speed. He's about to reclaim me when I stop him. "I want you to... I've got to be able to see you, too," I say, his exuberance surprising me.

Jaime's pulled off his jacket by the time I'm done talking. "As you wish, bird." He strips off his t-shirt, revealing his slender build, a little on the skinny side but toned from practical use. He reaches out to grab me while his pants still hang off of his ankles, and our bodies collide.

The moment where I felt the cool air against my skin evaporates as Jaime's heat envelopes me, wraps itself around me as his arms do, and he completes the process by kissing me, wholeheartedly. I freeze up a bit, shocked by the display of affection, but let him explore my mouth with his tongue. Before I know it, the bed hits the back of my legs, and we topple over together, body parts colliding awkwardly. Jaime growls into my mouth, then wrests his lips away to begin kissing my body. I manage to breathe out some expletives as his mouth touches me everywhere, leaving me feeling hornier, if at all possible. His warm wet lips travel from my collarbone to my breasts, which he nips into hard tips, and then down further to my belly. They suck the life out of me and at the same time, poor heat into my blood. And his hands never cease their roaming and squeezing and rubbing. They heat me up from the inside out until I can't take it anymore.

"Jaime," I beg, though I don't know what it's for. "_Jaime_!"

He seems to understand, though. "Just one moment, bird." He positions himself above me, spreads my legs with a gentle hand this time, and claims my mouth as he surges forward. I nearly faint from the friction that's twice as pleasurable this time. A kind of soreness is inside of me, but the hunger that devours me is deeper, a starvation really. And Jaime is my full course meal. He releases my mouth to grunt as he propels his hips forward, hard and unyielding, and it causes me to raise up my hips then shout a little bit, which I trap behind my teeth. He seems even bigger this time, harder, more rod-like. I don't know. He just seems like _more_.

Jaime groans. "Let it out, bird. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."

My thoughts are unintelligible to even myself, so I have no idea what to say. But in a moment of clarity, I realize that Jaime wants to hear good things. He was prepared to rape me, after all, so he must have a bit of a Napolean complex or something. He wants to hear things that make him feel like a man.

"Jaime," I gasp as he hits this spot and it sends sparks of fire racing into my core. My hips buck up to meet them. "_Oh_- You're so good."

He groans deeply, looking down at me. His eyes are dark with lust. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Really big. And s-so hard." The force of his hips nearly drives me into the headboard. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream, but it partially escapes. He's sped up now, so the only time I can get a few words in is between thrusts. Otherwise my mouth doesn't work. "You're the best... ever."

Jaime furrows his brow and closes his eyes in concentration. His bares his teeth, and sweat collects around his hairline. I'm aware, then of just how much he wants this, too. How good it makes him feel. He's gorgeous. His pistoning into me gets even faster, building up this heat that makes my stomach flutter and makes all sensations intensified. I clench tighter around him.

Words fail me once more, and I struggle to find something, anything to say, but his plunging into me is so brutal and sweet now that I feel I'll die of the pleasure right here, with his heat warming me. I'll die. "_J-J-Jaime_!"

He tunnels deep into me, and I'm transported somewhere else entirely. A place where darkness and light consume me all at the same time. A place made of pure, hot, _burning _pleasure somewhere among the stars. I come screaming Jaime's name, clutching at him, and he follows soon after, burying his shout into my pillow. A gentleman. He collapses right on top of me, not bothering to pull out, but I don't mind. It's comforting, and I like the feel of him heaving, his breath blowing in my ear. He raises himself up on his arms so that he can slide out of me, a bizarrely empty feeling, and rolls over to my side. We're still breathing quite heavily, but he looks over at me.

"I thought..." he says, "that you were a virgin. Impossible."

Unbelieveably, this draws a laugh from me. His incredulity about my prowess in bed is... it throws me off. Like a racist complimenting your work in the NAACP. I look over at him. "Yeah, well, I had a good teacher."

He's silent for a moment, so long that I don't think he's going to say any more else. He seems content to share my bed with me.

"Why did you do that?" he suddenly inquires.

I don't have to ask what he's talking about. I shrug, though I'm looking at the ceiling now so I'm not sure if he saw it. "I wanted it," I say simply. "And you're my type."

The next bout of silence is shorter. Just a half a second later, Jaime reaches out to me. "C'mere," he says, pulling me toward him. I freeze, unsure of what he wants, but he does all the work for me, bringing me up against his side, hoisting my leg over him, and then grasping my hips so that I am sitting right on top of him, straddling him, really. Now my experience is limited, but I'm pretty sure that the pillow talk stage doesn't go like this. "Next time," he says, "I want you on top like this."

"Next time," I echo dubiously.

Jaime nods. "Oh I'll be back, bird. I'm hooked, now." He releases my hips, which is good because my legs were about to start shaking with the effort of holding me up, and I go to lay down. Jaime suddenly shoots up. "Wait here."

Because he somehow already knows where the bathroom is, he goes in and comes back out with a pail of water, a rag, and a blanket. "Sit at the edge of the bed, bird," he commands as he approaches.

I can guess what it is he means to do, and I'm hesitant. But I do it. "You're not about to do what I think you're about to do... are you?" I querie suspiciously.

"Most likely. Can't have you all sullied, now can we? Spread your legs."

If anything, I press them together even tighter. "You are _not _coming near me with those things." I'm adamant on this, but my quivering voice seems to disagree.

He kneels before me, rag and water at the ready. "Why ever not? Are you embarrassed?"

"No!" I shoot out too quickly. Jaime smirks and parts my legs himself, taking me by the hips in order to bring me closer.

"A good sir always cleans up what mess he's caused. In this case..." He lets his voice travel as he dips the rag into the water, and brings it to my inner thigh. I tense up in anticipation, but am surprised to find the water warm, and his touch gentle.

"It just so happens to be your maidenhood." He continues to wipe at whatever fluids are there, wringing out the rag and starting over again once my thighs are cleaned.

_Maidenhood_, I think to myself. _Who _talks _like that?_ "Where are you from?" I ask purely out of curiosity. "Tell me how you got... here."

Jaime looks up at me, and his blue eyes glitter in the dark. "You really want to know that?" he asks.

I nod. "That... and why you keep calling me 'bird.'"

He smirks and goes back to wiping me off. "Alright. But first you've got to open a little wider for me."

I've almost forgotten that he's down there when he mentions it again. Figures. I go to move my legs when pain rolls up them. Sore. "I can't," I say honestly. "It hurts too much."

Jaime looks at me, in the eyes, and his remorse is so great that when he opens his mouth to speak, he just shuts it again. "Here, let me help."

He gets onto the bed and then guides me up with him, settling me against the pillows and lowering himself between my legs. He plants his lips on the inside of my right thigh, making it sensitive, and then begins to knead out the muscle softly. It hurts, but it feels good. He then switches to the other leg, leaving me feeling warm and euphoric afterward. Floaty. Next, he goes straight to cleaning the folds of my once-private place, not even giving me the chance to throw up my guards or prepare myself. It still tingles immensely there with even the lightest touches, but it's over before I know it.

Jaime lays next to me again. "I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is thick with emotion.

And he begins to tell me about his life.


End file.
